


PDA Isn't So Bad After All

by koalawhisperer



Series: Jimlock Fluff [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:05:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2545277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalawhisperer/pseuds/koalawhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine Sherlock and Jim in some public place and Jim just grabs Sherlock's hand. Sherlock is a bit shocked because they are "in public" and "holding hands" but Jim just looks so smug and proud of himself to be holding Sherlock's hand and they're both really really okay with it. ~Jimlock anon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	PDA Isn't So Bad After All

Life for Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty was filled with danger, fraught with peril, often putting one or both of them into lifethreatening situations. Sherlock regularly put himself in danger on cases, chasing after criminals and getting himself into situations that normal people avoided. Jim was often in danger as well; the man was wanted by many law enforcement organizations including Scotland Yard, and many peope would give their right leg to have the man killed or incarcerated. It was a very exciting life, of course, but everyone needed a little downtime. A little time to unwind, to destress. Yes, even Sherlock and Jim. After all, geniuses don't function at their best when they're stressed, and Sherlock and Jim always needed to be at their best.

So, surprisingly, the two men who turned their noses up and scoffed at ordinary things such as dates, did, well, just that. They went on dates. They didn't hold hands or anything of that nature since both of them preferred to keep their sentimental displays to a minimum as well as private. It wouldn't do well for them to be seen doing something like that. Jim was the most dangerous man in England, and Sherlock had developed a cold, distant persona over the years, one that only came down once Sherlock deemed the other person worthy. Neither of them would be taken seriously should they be seen doing something sentimental in public, so it was avoided at all costs.

One particular afternoon found them at a museum, examining priceless works of art that Jim could either have stolen with a simple text or afford to purchase without batting an eye. Jim was more attentive to the art than Sherlock; Sherlock preferred his culture in the form of concerts and other things to with music while Jim preferred the visual arts, not that the Irishman disliked music. The criminal even painted as a way to combat the stresses of his work; a few of his paintings were displayed quite proudly in the flat he shared with Sherlock. They casually strolled through the exhibits, examining everything from Van Gogh to Monet (neither of them liked the flowery sorts of paintings, so that part was quickly visited), Rembrandt to Picasso. They maintained enough closeness to show others that they were there together, but they kept their hands to themselves. They knew what they were, so that was enough for them. No-one else needed to know that these two men were a couple.

At least, that was what _Sherlock_ thought.

Jim, on the other hand, was feeling particularly daring andaffectionate as he gazed up at Sherlock for a few moments. Perhaps it was the unusually gorgeous day, perhaps it was the fact that Sherlock had opted to wear _that_ purple shirt that always made Jim's heart skip a beat or two in his chest, or perhaps it was something else in the air. Whatever it was, Jim wanted more that just walking closely to each other. Part of him craved touch whenever possible. He needed that physical, tangible proof that Sherlock was his, that this wan't some sort of dream that he was going to wake up from at any moment. It had taken Sherlock long enough to admit that he wanted Jim, so the idea that he could lose Sherlock terrified him more than he was comfortable admitting. He could spend hours just _touching_ Sherlock, stroking those gloriously thick curls, tracing over that porcelain skin, those full lips. Anything to get proof that Sherlock was real and his and not some sort of an enigma that could disappear as quickly as a puff of smoke.

In a way, Jim was nervous, the anxiety bubbling just beneath the daring and affectionate moods. Ha, now that was something laughable. Jim Moriarty, a man who had people brutally murdered and tortured without batting an eye, was nervous about something as simple as reaching down and taking his lover's (they both thought 'boyfriend' was too juvenile, and partner was too generic) hand. But there was the fact that Sherlock might not react positively to the touch since they both had a sort of unspoken agreement about public displays of affection, even something as subtle as holding hands while walking around somewhere. At the same time, how would he ever know how Sherlock would react to it if he didn't try it? He could handle Sherlock's stroppy moods should it not go over well. After all, he'd done it many times before, so he could do it again. He glanced up at Sherlock again and again as they strolled through the paintings, just admiring the man's striking profile. Oh, he could certainly make a masterpiece should he choose to use Sherlock as a model for one of his paintings. Perhaps he would do that at a time when they were both free. Jim pushed that thought aside and continued to glance at Sherlock. Eventually, though, Sherlock being the observant man he was, Jim was caught.

“Is something wrong?” the detective asked. “You're unusually....”

Before Sherlock could finish his sentence, Jim just went for it, reaching down decisively and grabbing Sherlock's hand, the touch jolting his heart in a wonderful sort of way. A smug smirk crossed his face, disguising the inner glee and delight he was feeling as an inflated sense of pride. God, it felt _good._ Really, really good. This was the proof Jim needed, this was Jim staking his claim, proudly saying that this gorgeous man was _his,_ thank you very much, and nothing was about to change that. If he could, he'd do this everywhere, showing the world that he'd gotten the man he'd wanted for years, that their twenty years of dancing around each other had gotten them to where they were supposed to be. This was okay. This was beyond okay. This was perfection.

Sherlock froze in surprise when Jim suddenly grabbed his hand, a rush of conflicting responses jolting his brain as his eyes widened. Part of him wanted to jerk back and let go, to give Jim the look that said 'now what did we say about this sort of thing'. But the other part, oh, the other part was on the proverbial Cloud Nine. He absolutely adored when Jim touched him. The touches, sexual or not, made Sherlock feel _wanted_. Like he was a human instead of just a brilliant mind, like he was loved and respected as a whole. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that it would come from a man he once called his enemy, but he wasn't complaining about it. Why would he when he was happier than he'd ever been in his entire life? Jim understood Sherlock more than anyone else, more than John or Mycroft or Gavin (that was his name, right?), because Jim and Sherlock were the same. Made for each other. Two sides of the same coin. But still...there was their unspoken agreement...and both of them did have a persona to uphold whilst in public.

“We are in public!” Sherlock hissed in surprise as he glanced down at their intertwined hands, somehow unable to let go no matter how hard he tried. “And holding hands!”

“I know,” Jim said in a rather self-satisfied sort of tone, looking quite smug and proud of himself as his hold on Sherlock's hand tightened slightly. “And before you say a word, we never _actually_ agreed that we would never do this sort of thing. We just never did it.”

Sherlock's mouth gaped open as he attempted to retort, but he quickly realised that Jim was right. They'd never outright made this sort of thing off-limits. Actually, nothing was off-limits for them except making any sort of romantic advances towards another person. Sherlock had stopped doing it for cases, and Jim had stopped doing it to manipulate people. Sherlock closed his mouth, only adding to Jim's happiness. God, Jim. He looked absolutely gorgeous in that moment, a proud smile on his face and his eyes alight with happiness. Sherlock couldn't pull his hand back. Not when Jim looked so happy, so downright pleased with and proud of himself that this had finally happened. So Sherlock squeezed Jim's hand in confirmation, as a way of saying that this was okay. More than okay. An unspoken way of saying 'maybe we could do this again'.

As Sherlock kept their hands intertwined, his larger hand in Jim's small one, fingers fitting so perfectly together, Jim felt his heart leap in his chest. He'd been nervous over nothing, of course he had. Sherlock would do anything to make him happy, after all. And, as he gazed up at his lover as they continued their stroll through the museum, Jim could've sworn that he saw a small smile cross Sherlock's face. Sherlock liked this too, which only made this entire moment that much sweeter. Perhaps public affection wasn't as bad as they'd made it seem after all.


End file.
